


Sour Times Part 2

by forwhenmybrainhurts



Series: Sour Times [2]
Category: Hat Films - Fandom, The Yogscast
Genre: Anger, Depression, Fae manipulation, Gargoyles - Freeform, Kelpies, Mentions of public sex, Multi, Selkies, Urban Fantasy, Urban Magic Yogs, Yuki-Onna - Freeform, fae, glaistig, mentions of punishment, small mention of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-24
Updated: 2015-11-24
Packaged: 2018-05-03 04:42:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5277101
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/forwhenmybrainhurts/pseuds/forwhenmybrainhurts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Finally, here is the next part for you. I don't want to say too much, other than please read my previous UMY fics for context.</p>
<p>See the end for notes on some of my ideas.</p>
<p>Playlist <a href="https://open.spotify.com/user/queen_zombie/playlist/26hWsLO5WbVQOYaQQZqfQP">here</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	Sour Times Part 2

Sips stood in the doorway of the bedroom, leaning into the doorframe, relaxing his hands in his pockets, and staring at Trott with a face of empathy. The selkie was lying in the bed, as he had been since the early afternoon of the previous day. He was awake, but only opened his eyes when he realised Sips hadn’t moved.  
“Can I change the sheets?” The king asked, so softly and quietly that Trott attempted to lift his head and smile gratefully. However, his body wouldn’t allow it. He managed to nod his head, and started to wake his muscles.  
Sips waited patiently for Trott to rise, never taking his eyes from him. Once the selkie was sat at the edge of the bed, feet on the floor and this head facing the same way, Sips added a consolation.  
“I ran you a bath.”  
Trott looked up, a little blearily. The two of them stared at each other for a few moments.  
“Thank you,” Trott breathed.  
Another pause between them, and Sips advised, “It’ll get cold.”  
Trott smiled sideways, whilst holding a hand out for Sips to take and help him up.

Smith sat behind the war memorial outside City Hall, poking at the polystyrene tray in his hand, which was laden with chips. Tom was sitting to his left.  
The two had spotted each other in a churchyard, exchanged greetings, and decided to go for chips from the market. They hadn't said much to each other, but Smith felt strangely comforted by the company. It was nice having someone around without feeling like they might implode at any moment.  
“Have you found work yet?” Smith asked.  
The sphinx smiled. “Of course,” he replied with a tone of mock arrogance. “I had three offers of work the night you set fire to the club.”  
Smith raised his eyebrows. “Well, I suppose you did say people like to have a sphinx as a doorman.”  
“That they do, kelpie.”  
There was a small pause, and Smith continued. “So, where is this job?”  
“Ah!” It was as if Tom had only just remembered that he was having a conversation. “It’s another club - incidentally owned by the same person as Hive - but it’s slightly more exclusive.”  
“That’s surprising, seeing as Hive burned down when you were on duty,” Smith chided.  
“Hive was merely damaged at the side entrance, kelpie. It will reopen soon. As for my duty, that was only to the front entrance.” Glee covered the sphinx’s mouth, and Smith laughed at the joke.  
Smith relaxed a little, and ate some of the chips in his hand. The seagulls and other birds had started to take an interest, but whenever they eyed Smith they retreated a little. Smith had stopped noticing when things retreated from him.  
“I’ll be honest with you, Smith.” Smith blinked and looked up. It was the first time Tom had used anything other than “kelpie” to address him. “This club I’m helping to look after is like nothing I have worked with before. It’s rather exciting.”  
Smith was surprised. Tom had shown no emotion about any sort of situation before, so to hear him say he was excited about something left the kelpie unable to think of a response. He could only blink some more, and express his willingness for the story to continue.  
“Well, it’s a sort of sex club. Like, a kinky one.” Tom’s language had turned almost human, but the tone hadn’t differed much.  
Smith heard the mention of sex, and jumped straight on it. “Sounds like my sort of place,” he quipped.  
Tom gave a curious grin, and it was clear he was intrigued. “I can get you in, if you like.”  
Smith threw a couple of chips onto the ground and watched the birds eye them suspiciously before desire came over them and they fought for mouthfuls. “What sort of kink are we talking about, here?” He was interested, but had heard and seen it all before. He doubted it would shock him.  
“I see people going in with toys and chains and whips. There is a lot of leather and plastic.” Tom’s eyes shone with amusement.  
Smith sighed, “Nah, seen it all. That stuff is only good when people know what they’re doing, and it sounds like these guys are amateurs.”  
“I thought you might say something like that. Kelpies are willing to try anything, and each time they do, the thrill gets less and less. So you keep doing more and more crazy things.”  
Smith wasn’t sure if Tom was attempting a compliment, or looking for a smack in the face. It looked as though the sphinx had almost read his mind, and quickly added, “Point is, the manager feels the same as you, and I think you can help her.”  
“Is she the owner?” Smith asked, his inquisitiveness almost getting the better of him. He still didn’t know if he could trust Tom.  
“Yes, and I know what you’re thinking. She knows it was you who set fire to Hive, and she is actually proud of the fact you were so keen to get into her club that you did it in the first place.”  
That dry wit was still covering the sphinx’s face, and Smith restrained himself from suggesting that there was a very different reason he was angry. He shrugged.  
“Even though she had previously been warned to not let you or your court anywhere near her clubs, she has decided that you might actually be an asset.”  
A slightly confused eyebrow twitch was quickly followed by realisation on Smith’s face. “Been talking to a certain horned bastard, has she?” Tom smiled and raised his eyebrows in a reply.  
Smith couldn’t help the grin spread over his face, being told that Kirin had made one more enemy, and a pretty powerful sounding one at that. Of course, there was always the chance that this was all a bluff.  
“When can you get me in?” The kelpie asked.

The owner had met Smith at the front door, and eyed him up and down, a small half smile appearing on her beautiful face.  
“Smith?” She asked.  
The kelpie nodded, swallowing in her flawless skin and long, dark hair. No way was she human.  
“Nina-Serena,” she offered, holding a hand for Smith to shake.  
She wore a white kimono, and a heavy looking gold choker necklace covered her neck completely, and disappeared underneath its collar. Smith wondered if she dressed like this all the time, and if not, what did she normally wear? How far did that necklace go on for?  
It looked as though she had read his thoughts, and gave a soft, yet warning look.  
“Follow me,” she said, shortly, clearly unimpressed.  
Tom gave the selkie an encouraging nod, as Smith looked to him. The sphinx was staying at the entrance, keeping guard. It didn’t help Smith’s uncertainty.  
Inside, it was boring. The music was too baroque, it was nowhere near being sexy enough. The overpowering scent of candles was everywhere, and they changed as Smith moved around the rooms. It was enough to cancel out the smell of sex, which in turn meant plenty of punters seemed a little distracted.  
The large, high ceilinged drawing room was clearly the place for people to meet and get to know each other; anything beyond a few charged touches and wandering eyes was not allowed in this room. Nina-Serena explained that there were many rooms upstairs, where people could go. Some were private, some not so much.  
“Want to go see?” She smiled, her blue eyes staring hard at the kelpie.  
Again, he merely nodded. He wasn’t expecting much, but couldn’t seem to say what he was thinking.  
The staircase expanded up the centre of the entrance hall. It used to be a hotel, back when the rich landowners wanted to holiday in the city at the start of the last century. The fad soon wore off, and the hotels were mostly closed down, turned into apartments, or gutted to make way for public buildings.  
“I claimed this one from the local government once they had repossessed it. I’d always wanted to do something like this,” the ethereal woman explained. Smith noticed her voice didn’t echo at all, despite the hall having a smooth, polished floor. He found himself just watching her, as they climbed the stairs together. She had a hold of the bannister to her left, but it didn’t look as though she had much need for it. She was practically floating over the dark red runner.  
“It sounds a bit silly, I suppose, but I have always found the obsessions of humans to be more than fascinating. Why not make a living out of exploiting it?” Nina-Serena turned to Smith then, and they stopped in unison.  
Smith opened his mouth to speak, but found it hard. His mouth was dry, and he could have sworn the temperature around them had dropped. The woman smiled once more, clearly amused, and turned back to carry on to the top of the stairs. A few moments to catch his breath again, and the kelpie followed. She must be used to this sort of reaction, the kelpie said to himself. After all, if she was able to take his breath away, everyone else must literally fall to their knees.  
Upstairs, and to the left, were the rooms in which people were allowed to put on a show for others. Consensual individuals were encouraged to sit inside a room and observe the activity in front of them.  
Nina-Serena motioned for Smith to enter each room in turn; there were three in total. The first was curious enough. A couple made love in the centre of the room whilst others stood around the rest of the room, their backs to the walls. Most had masked themselves in someway, and Smith noticed that 9 out of 10 were male.  
The next involved the punishment of a man by a woman. A stabbing sensation caught Smith by surprise, and he felt suddenly homesick. The entire scene made him uncomfortable, which was nothing short of distressing. This should be easy, he thought. Why isn’t this easy?  
Giving nothing away, he looked to the beautiful woman on his left and nodded, to say he had seen enough. As he turned to leave, however, a fierce looking woman traced her tongue over her teeth at him, and he was almost stunned. She had seen him, and let him see her. There was no mistaking. She was a glaistig. Acknowledging her with a defiant wink, Smith walked out of her sight.  
He had to compose his thoughts as he followed his host to the next room. Glaistigs were rare. She would be surprised to see a kelpie favouring the male appearance, and it probably meant the two of them would be having an interesting conversation if they were to meet again.  
Finally, the smaller room at the end of the hall was for whoever wanted to do whatever with anyone. At the time of Smith’s arrival, some couples were already having sex, some were merely getting to know each other, and some were doing the same as in the other rooms; observing, sipping small drinks brought round by a woman in a trashy maid’s outfit.  
“Seen enough?” Nina-Serena whispered into the kelpie’s ear. He struggled not to shiver as he nodded.  
“We’ll go to my office,” she stated, opening the door once more to lead the way back down the stairs, across the other side of the entrance hall, and into a large room, about half the size of the drawing room.  
Smith’s boots rattled satisfyingly around the walls from the way they hit the dark wooden floorboards as he followed Nina-Serena towards the middle of the room. He allowed himself to look at the abundant art over the walls. In keeping with her choice of clothes, the graceful woman had chosen a Japanese theme. And not only were delicate landscapes hand painted in huge murals, but they were all set in winter. The office was not what someone might describe as ‘cosy’, but it was no doubt spectacular.  
The furniture was in keeping with the dark floor. Smith could tell by the smell that it was cherry wood. It was carved as though pictures in a Japanese tourist guide had been their inspiration, and a cherry wood shoji screen shielded one corner of the room.  
“Have a seat, Smith,” Nina-Serena offered, even though the kelpie was very sure that it wasn’t an offer at all.  
There was a rather expensive looking white rug under the office table and chairs, and Smith thought of asking if he should take his boots off. Realising that Nina-Serena might take this as a joke made in poor taste, he decided to take them off anyway. He wanted to make this woman a friend, so decided it would be better safe than sorry.  
Nina-Serena didn’t remove her shoes, however, but Smith had already made the commitment. Standing on the other side of the table, she watched with that same silent amusement she had plastered over her face for most of their meeting.  
Smith could feel his indignation rising, but physically bit his tongue. The pain seemed to help a little. The boots were removed, finally, and Smith sat, albeit with his nostrils slightly flared.  
“I appreciate that. Only Kami know what you’d drag onto my lovely rug from those boots.”  
Smith could hold it back no more. “It would probably include some of the ashes of your club that I set fire to.”  
To the kelpie’s surprise, Nina-Serena laughed. It didn’t help Smith’s mood, but at least he knew not to bother holding his words back from now on.  
“Yeah, I suppose it would, but I doubt it would help with the rebuild. I don’t really want that on my carpet. So thank you.” The woman finally sat, opposite the kelpie.  
“So you are from Japan?” Smith asked.  
“Yes,” was the reply.  
“I wondered if it might just be the look you were going for, seeing as how it’s so cliched.” Smith wanted to know how hard he could push.  
Nina-Serena laughed again. “No, this is simple aesthetic for the people who come in here.” She paused. “Plus, you know, Japan really is this beautiful. It reminds me of home.”  
The cogs in Smith’s head were turning. Japanese fae were not familiar to him, the truth was too often tainted by modern stories that simply weren’t true. Judging by the clues he was given, she was from the country, in the mountains. But then, there were a lot of mountains in Japan, so it could be anywhere. And she had been around for a long time. Traditions were not just a gimmick to impress Westerners, they were part of her history.  
The woman blinked at the expression on the kelpie’s face, and shifted herself on the chair. “I’m a Yuki-onna. A lady of the snow, if you like. That’s what humans like to call me anyway.”  
Smith couldn’t help the grin spread across his face, nor the snort of laughter out of his mouth.  
Nina-Serena didn’t laugh this time, she stared hard at the kelpie, daring him to explain why he thought this was funny.  
Smith almost faltered, but his confidence was quickly returning with every minute spent in the onna’s company. She wasn’t that formidable after all. He kept the grin, and prompted her to ask outright by raising his eyebrows at her.  
However, she remained still; her darkened eyes boring into him.  
“Oh come on,” the kelpie caved. “Make it a little more obvious, why don’t you?”  
Nina-Serena merely moved her eyes slowly down towards Smith’s boots, originally brown, but stained green from the time he had been spending at the river. She then pointedly looked to the kelpie’s jeans, stained with the same elements, then back to his face. She smiled at the awkwardness that had quickly come over Smith.  
She wasn’t to know that the reason for the stains were thanks to something deeper than anything the heavens, earth, water, the fires of Hell, and the air that anyone would ever breathe could show him, and nothing to do with him holding onto his kelpie past.  
“Yeah, yeah alright. Look, what am I here for?” Smith changed the subject.  
“You tell me. Tom said you might be able to help. Business is slowing down, and this wood takes a lot of resources to maintain.”  
“You want me to burn it?” the kelpie grinned.  
“It’s an option for the future, perhaps. But, as I understand it, you have a taste for this sort of thing.” At the word ‘taste’, Nina-Serena’s eyes shone, and she drew the word out.  
Smith smiled again. “You could say that,” he hinted.  
The onna moved closer to the table, as if they were about to share something secret. “Look, this business has done me well for decades, because lonely, bored, mortal men will pay a tonne to get off. A few of them still come, if they can’t get the kink at home, but the internet has pretty much halved my clientele. I don’t care about what happens to people, as long as me and my cherry wood can get by.”  
Smith’s mind was whirring. Nina-Serena was obviously aware of him, and his endeavours. Had Tom told her? How did Tom know, anyway? The idea that this might all be a trap was once again at the forefront of the kelpie’s mind.  
“You want to employ me to look after some of your clients?” He understood what Nina-Serena was saying to him.  
“Yes. I want you to be their drug. I want them to come back time and again, and I want them to tell others about you, so they come along too.”  
Smith unblinkingly shook his head, slowly. “No. I have too much other shit to do. I’m not going to become your pet.”  
It was clear that the onna was looking for a compromise; a way to make the kelpie say yes. Was she really expecting him to say yes?  
“You know you have a glaistig up there, right?” Smith moved his gaze to the upstairs room which had felt so awkward.  
Nina-Serena had no idea, or even a clue as to what a glaistig might be. That was obvious from her reaction.  
Smith sighed. “Another water fae, similar to a kelpie in some ways. They’re not as dangerous as kelpies of course, unless you’re a mortal man.” He stopped to see what Nina-Serena might make of this.  
She merely motioned for Smith to continue.  
“I’d wager that some of you clients wouldn’t come back even if they had exhausted all of the kink porn on the internet.”  
The onna stood, quickly, and angrily. She stopped herself from moving towards the door, thanks to Smith’s grin and the fact he hadn’t shifted a muscle.  
“There’s no point. She saw me, she’d have left by now. However, if I don’t want to work for you, maybe she will.”  
Sharply, Nina-Serena asked, “If she’s gone, she won’t come back. How do I find her?”  
A pause, and Smith finally stood, and was serious.  
“I’m happy to work with you. If I get this place back up and running as it should, I take a cut.”  
Nina-Serena’s nostrils flared. The kelpie knew in that instant how important the club was to the onna. And they both knew that he had won.  
To save her having to say anything at this point (he made a note to ensure a contract would be agreed before long), he twitched his eyebrows, and started to put his boots back on.  
“I’ll come back when I’ve got her,” he said, as he walked out of the office, out of the entrance hall, and back onto the chilly pavement to relay some of the conversation to Tom the sphinx, who looked more than a little interested in what had happened.

Trott sat next to his king, holding a glass of the cocktail which Sips had dubbed “Salvation”; an attempt at humour during one evening of particular tense emotion. The drink hadn’t been touched, and the selkie was unaware of much going on around him. There was clearly some sort of heavy bassline, and lights were illuminating different shadowy corners of the club in a pattern, but Trott only saw blurred faces, as much as he tried. Friends would walk past, and he would fake a smile. Those who knew who he was and tried to introduce themselves were featureless nobodies. By the time it got to closing time, the selkie was exhausted. He’d lost count of the amount of times he had replied to “where are the others?”, “I thought you had a gargoyle?”, “You’re missing a couple of coworkers, aren’t you?” The drink was still enveloped in his grip, almost serving as an accessory.  
Sips squeezed his shoulder in a mark of nothing but support. “I’m so proud of you.”  
Trott turned and looked at him, for what he thought must have been the first time in the whole evening.  
The man knew that the words he spoke were almost alien, but he stood by them. “I can’t imagine how you feel. It’s so fucking hard, Trott. No one knew. The fact you take this all on your shoulders, and still hide it. How?”  
Trott stared at the face of his king for a few moments. “Practice,” he replied.  
He didn’t want to speak any more, just sleep. They were silent on the journey home, silent as they got ready for bed, and silent as they lay, holding onto each other, as if they were forcing themselves to believe that this could all be so much worse.

Sips had meant to turn their phones off before they slept, but he was so concerned with comforting Trott however he could, that he forgot. The ringtone slashing the morning light made Trott thump the pillow on the empty part of the bed.  
“What?” he answered irritably.  
“Woah there, beautiful. I only wanted to say good morning.”  
“What is it, Smith?” Trott’s head was swimming, still half-asleep.  
“I’ve expanded the business, Trott.” Smith waited for a response.  
Trott tried to process the information, but it wasn’t really sinking in. It sounded like Smith was at a casino.  
“You what?” The selkie asked.  
“I’ve expanded the business. There’s a club in town run by this Japanese onna called Nina-Serena, and she wants me to help run it.”  
Trott sat upright. “Are you fucking kidding me? She’s the one whose club you burned down.”  
“Trott, it was only cosmetic damage. I impressed her, actually.”  
The selkie was disbelieving. “Do you have the slightest clue what that probably means?”  
“I know, I know. Look, I don’t trust her, but we’re going to sign a contract, and it’s got everything important covered. It says nothing about my home life, nothing about you, nothing about my other work. It’s just about making a new ally against those bastards that have Ross.” The mention of the gargoyle’s name stirred Trott’s stomach. He looked to Sips, who was leaning up, listening to what he could.  
Softly, Trott spoke. “We don’t know that someone has him, Smith.”  
“Trott!” Smith silenced the selkie. “Yes we do. We all know who took him, and why. Seeing as how you can’t seem to get the job done yourself, I’m taking it into my own hands.” The kelpie regretted his words, but being as stubborn as he was, didn’t apologise.  
Trott stayed silent, closing his eyes in hopelessness.  
Smith continued, in a much softer voice. “I’ve got the contract. I’m coming home, and you can read it before I sign it, ok?”  
Trott hung up the phone, and heaved a sigh.  
Sips waited for the selkie to calm his nerves, before running a hand over his back, as he retold the conversation.

Sips raised an eyebrow to the bundling noises coming from the other room. Smith was home. He appeared at the doorway of the bedroom, faced with the image of his king sitting up in bed, playing a game on his phone.  
“Where’s Trott?” The kelpie asked, a little out of breath. He held a small collection of paper in his hand.  
Not looking up, Sips merely stated, “Boots.” After a small pause, Smith’s resentful expression going ignored, Sips added, “And shower, Smiffy. Jesus!”  
“Where is Trott?” Smith enforced, which finally made Sips stop what he was doing and give his attention to the kelpie.  
Sips sighed. “He’s not here. He didn’t want to see you.”  
Smith couldn’t process it. It was as though the one thing keeping him sane had been taken over. The whole balance of everything he loved had been upset, and before he could stop himself, he chucked the paper on the floor and threw a punch behind him, cracking the plaster of the low-bearing wall as it connected.  
Sips was alarmed, of course, but stayed calm, allowing the kelpie to breathe hard against the cold wall. Wounds had opened up on the back of his hand, and Sips watched Smith flex his fingers, slightly pained, but ensured that nothing was broken.  
“Fuck,” Smith spat, but his breath inwards was shaking. He heard Sips get up and walk over slowly. Without turning away from the wall, Smith reached his good hand out behind him. Sips took it, and Smith drew Sips’s hand up towards his chest, clasping on. His king was behind him, body pressed against his back, like a comforter.  
They stayed this way for a good few moments, until Smith’s breathing calmed, and he moved underneath Sips. The kelpie sniffed, and winced as he moved his hand.  
“How is it?” Sips asked.  
Smith coughed a laugh. “Painful,” he replied.  
“Let’s go shower,” Sips suggested, and Smith allowed himself to be led to the bathroom.

Later in the evening, Smith had fallen asleep in the comfort of Sips, which had turned into more and more of a regular occurrence. Sips enjoyed the programme on television - a reality show about home makeovers - as his thumb absentmindedly traced over the kelpie leaning on him, breathing in contented sleep.  
The front door opened with care, and Trott walked into the living room. Sips smiled at him, and looked to Smith. The kelpie hadn’t stirred. Turning back to Trott, he could see that the selkie was staring at Smith, all the while he was taking his jacket and shoes off. There was a great affection and knowing in his eyes, and Sips wondered about their relationship. It wasn’t always easy, but could this be the hardest thing they had faced?  
“You need to talk to him,” Sips murmured, in a low pitch.  
Trott turned his loving gaze to his king.  
“I will try,” was all he could respond with.  
Trott made mugs of tea, and joined Sips in watching the television for a short while. Smith woke as if he’d be startled, and it made Sips jump.  
“You ok?” He asked, immediately.  
Trott just watched, silent.  
“Yeah. Just a dream, I guess.” The kelpie spoke to both of his friends, before he did a double take, finally realising he should be surprised at Trott’s presence. “You’re here,” he stated.  
Trott smiled warmly and nodded. Even so, Smith could feel the sadness coming from him.  
“You hung up on me, earlier. Then you weren’t here when I got home.” Smith craved an explanation. “I punched a hole in the wall, Trott.”  
Trott’s remorseful look down at the kelpie’s bandaged knuckles showed that Sips had already relayed this part of the story to him.  
That hit of a whine in Smith’s voice tried to raise Trott’s stress levels again, but the selkie didn’t allow it. Smith could go for a little while without the level of attention he was so used to. He had to. He and Sips were the only thing in Trott’s life which weren’t fickle, or likely to be lost if they weren’t looked after.  
“I’m not myself, sunshine,” the selkie spoke softly. “I can only do so much, and right now, I need you to look after yourself.”  
Smith turned his eyes away, knowing that this had been true for a while, and guilty that he hadn’t done something about it.  
Trott then added, “Until Ross is home again.” A wave of hope hit Smith and he looked back to the selkie. They smiled to each other. “Tell me about Nina-Serena.”

Trott looked over the contract, and had let Smith link arms with him on the large armchair. They were a little squashed together, but it was a welcome feeling; one that they had both been craving. Their heads nuzzled, and Sips stretched his limbs to cover the whole sofa on his own, contented, and very happy to see Trott and Smith where they were.  
Finishing the readthrough, Trott dropped the paper on the small table beside him, and shifted himself so he was more comfortable, Smith nestled in his arms.  
“It seems to be tight. I’m actually impressed you took your time over it, usually you jump straight in.”  
Smith looked over Trott’s features with care. “I wanted to take care of it all myself. It’s my idea, and if it goes wrong, it’s my shit that I will clear up.”  
Sips looked over in surprise. This wasn’t the usual way this would go, and it was unnerving. Was there more that Smith wasn’t telling them? The chances were high, to say the least. Trott’s response was equally as surprising, but Sips decided not to interfere. The other two had known each other longer than he had been alive, so he supposed, meaning they knew what they were doing.  
“If you want to do it, it’s up to you. I don’t have to tell you not to open your mouth too much, or do anything stupid, do I?”  
Smith laughed. “Not this time,” he lowered his voice, and leaned in to kiss the selkie sweetly, but with an egotistical power.  
It took Trott’s breath away. He wanted to cry. His emotional barriers had been completely demolished, and he had become so sensitive to whatever was around him, that he couldn’t hold it back.  
“I want you to take me,” he whispered.  
Smith leaned back, to look the selkie over. His face was serious and a little disturbed.  
“Really?” He asked. He turned to Sips, who was sitting upright, studying the situation intently.  
Trott’s hand traced the kelpie’s cheek to prompt him to face back. “Make me forget it,” there was a definite wobble behind his words, and coupled with the genuine gaze he was giving Smith from his mournful, yet ever beautiful brown eyes, it was clear that Smith was about to cross some lines.  
He didn’t need to be told twice, leaning in to kiss Trott again, turning on a little magic, but Sips’s voice fought through the expanding fog.  
“Smith!” He exclaimed. The magic still surrounded the two lovers, and Trott kept his eyes shut. Smith, however, turned again to his king. The use of the kelpie’s name rather than the affectionate nickname had caught his attention. There was a look of concern on Sips’ face, and Smith understood why. The mist cleared, and Trott’s eyes snapped open, his mind landing back in reality with a painful thud.  
“No, Trott. It’s not what you need,” the kelpie spoke softly, turning back and stroking Trott’s hair with deep affection.  
The ever impulsive Smith would have indulged the selkie, had Sips not been there. The temptation to make Trott his plaything was almost bursting through, but Smith knew the consequences. A healthy, happy Trott would never have done this, and the resulting relationship they shared was too precious to taint with magic, imitated emotions. They’d never be the same again, but it was the only thing keeping each one of them alive.  
“But it’s what I want,” Trott pleaded. It wasn’t a protest, however. It was a desperate cry for anything to help dull the ache. He knew it would be too dangerous to go through with his initial wish, and that brief taste he had just had was enough to ignite such a powerful feeling. It was the same as when he would watch Smith work his magic on others, but this time he felt as though he was on the edge of death. As thrilling as it might have been, it was enough to change his mind, and a small tear escaped from the corner of his glistening eye.  
Smith pulled Trott to his chest, steadying his breathing in order to comfort. Trott’s ear pressed against the beat of Smith’s heart, and he smiled to his king, who had stayed silent, but still in his upright position, face full of anxiety. The smile eased Sips’ worry, and he relaxed back into his lounging position, but facing his housemates.  
“We’ll get there,” he assured.

Four miles outside of the city centre, on the rooftop of a grand, gothic mansion, a gargoyle sat and stared at the skyline, burning orange with the fading daylight. He wondered who lived there, and whether there were any other gargoyles with a consciousness. The others who decorated the mansion didn’t have any, and he found it most disconcerting that he seemed to be the odd one out in more than one way.  
They were all made from the same sandstone as the building they were protecting, but this one was marble. He was sure there was something more in there - after all, he was very much alive - but he couldn’t begin to know what exactly it was, and where it had come from.  
Cocking his head to one side, gazing at the streetlights which had started their routine switch on, the gargoyle suddenly craved to be down there. There was something that needed him, he was sure of it. He thought the yearning would kill him if he didn’t do something about it quickly. He did something he hadn’t done since moving from the doorway, and stood up. Placing one foot in front of the other, the gargoyle focused on the blocky buildings in front of him, and tried to hone in on the specific point which called to him.  
“Ross?” A sharp voice stopped the gargoyle dead. His blood pounded in his temples, and his fingers tingled. Ross looked down and realised his toes had reached the edge of the roof. It was a long way down. He stepped back, before turning to his master with a smile. He was happy to see him, as it meant whatever he was thinking about was now forgotten. The sense of duty and loyalty overcame any jumbled thoughts he may have had.  
His master looked at him, steady and powerful, yet full of reverence for the beauty in front of him. Ross liked the way his master looked at him. So much so, the gargoyle walked back to the doorway of the roof access, to stand in front of his master and receive an embrace.  
“I have something for you,” the master whispered, full of harsh desire, which made Ross’ tongue involuntarily come out to wet his lips. His startling eyes watched his master, and waited, submissively.  
The master let a low sigh out of his slightly parted lips. He had misunderstood the gargoyle’s look for one of lust, when it was actually one of apprehension, even fear.  
“Come with me,” the master instructed.  
Ross followed blindly through the door, and down the stairs, to the broad hallway of the top floor. He had never been inside the building, that he could remember, yet some parts felt familiar.  
The master led Ross through the hall, and down to the middle floor, glancing back now and then to watch his gargoyle admiring the things they walked past.  
Ross liked the portraits the most. The people in them were so depressed, some looked bored, others completely in their own little worlds. He found it funny, and smiled at each one.  
The master stopped in the doorframe of a dark room. A heavy curtain covered the vast window, and Ross could only just make out the patterned wallpaper. There was a large dresser against one wall, adjacent to the window, and a huge bed, covered with blankets. The wooden floor was polished, and looked original; the floorboards bowed over time, and a long rug led the way to an en suite bathroom.  
“This is yours,” the master said, dripping with praise, as if Ross had been working towards this reward since he could remember.  
Ross looked at his master, questioning.  
“This is your room,” the master explained.  
“I,” the gargoyle started. He had always lived on the roof. There was never any cause for a bed, or a bathroom. “I don’t understand,” he admitted, looking around the room.  
“If you want it, you can have it. It’s a space just for you.”  
Ross swallowed the uncomfortable feeling in his throat. “Thank you,” he breathed.  
His master turned to him, and stared. “You’re welcome,” he replied.  
There was a definite tone to his voice which Ross recognised. He would have to show his gratitude, but he was not sure what he was supposed to be grateful for. He suddenly missed the view from the rooftop.  
However, that was soon forgotten at his master's touch. Ross couldn't describe how it happened, but whenever his master would place a palm against his marbled cheek, he lost his place in the universe.  
The master’s eyes gleamed with pride and wonder as he stroked Ross's face. He ran a hand up towards one of the small horns on the gargoyle's head, and smiled with glee when a guttural moan spouted out of his mouth.  
Ross knew what to do; he sank to his knees in front of this master, desperate to please him, and to show how thankful he was, though he couldn't quite recall why. As he loosened his master's belt, he became less and less aware of the walls surrounding him.

Ross started awake, trying in vain to see the images he had been dreaming about. Whatever it was, it had made him feel something; a lost emotion from a lifetime ago.  
As his body came back to life, he was suddenly aware that he was laying on his back. There was a ceiling above him, decorated in ornate cornicing. As memories of the previous evening came back to him, he sat up and looked around him. The heavy curtain meant that only a two slivers of light came through, and Ross was curious at how one side seemed to shoot purple, and the other side red.  
His nature got the better of him, and he heaved himself off the huge, mahogany bed to walk over to the curtain and pull it open.  
His breath caught in his throat, and tears of awe stung his eyes, as he was bathed in all the colours he could imagine, from the sun penetrating through an enormous stained glass window.  
Breathing out slowly, the gargoyle looked down at himself. Each shard of glass which was embedded in his body dazzled the coloured light into his aquamarine eyes, and he smiled. The forgotten emotion from his dreams echoed in his chest, and he wanted to pray. The scene in front of him told the story of the fallen angel.  
"You are beautiful," the master's voice bounced off the walls of the room.  
Ross gazed at the gardens through a clear piece of the window, and it brought him back to the room. Turning to his master, he smiled.  
"I didn't realise this was here," he said softly.  
"It's stunning, isn't it?" The master’s stare never once moved away from Ross. "This was a convent, some hundred and fifty years ago. Whoever renovated it moved the chapel window here, though gods know why. They tore down the chapel itself, and the whole place became a brothel. Maybe they were trying to make a joke."  
Ross didn't answer. He wasn't sure what to say about it. Some buildings have memory, and the structure seemed to ache at the master's words. Though he questioned why he didn't remember any of this.  
"I've got one more little present for you," the master changed the subject.  
Ross furrowed his brow. "Why?" He asked. He didn't know of anything he had done to deserve this treatment. He was a gargoyle, and had always been sitting or standing on the roof.  
"Because it's time to make you belong in my world, Ross. You are mine, and I want you to understand that no one can change that." The master walked slowly across the room, towards Ross. He had a small wooden box in his hand. "Sit down," he instructed.  
Ross immediately sat at the small chair at the dresser. He faced himself, with his master behind him. There was a deep sense of recognition at the gargoyle in the mirror. He supposed it must have been from the times when he would catch his reflection in the puddles collected on the roof of the house.  
The sharp streaks of coloured light flooded the wall, the dresser and Ross. As he shifted on his seat, he watched the light reflecting back at him, and admired it.  
His master's hands ran over his marble shoulders with a sense of approval. The master had placed the wooden box in front of Ross, and now encouraged him to open it.  
Inside was a collection of blue stones - Ross guessed them to be sapphires - set into a silver woven chain. It was imposing enough to be seen even on him. He picked it up, and it was heavy, well made and full of history.  
A small shred of sadness passed through him, as if he should already be wearing the chain, and had been missing it for a long time. He looked at his master's face in the mirror, and hid the emotion.  
"Thank you," he breathed.  
"Let's put it on," the master stated, taking the chain and placing it around his gargoyle's neck.  
Ross's breath caught once more, as he grasped at a memory, but his master bent to kiss him so tenderly on his head, that he closed his eyes and lost it again.

**Author's Note:**

> The Yuki-Onna is a Japanese spirit of a woman usually dressed in white, who appears to travellers in the snow. She can either be malevolent or benevolent, sometimes even marrying mortal men and living happily. I thought this would fit Nina-Serena well, as she is so beautiful, and a big fan of Japanese culture. However, she has since lost the dark hair!
> 
> I had an image in mind when thinking about the mansion. I think it's a shot from the idents in Ghost Adventures, but there's the distinct image of the corner of a roof with a gargoyle looking down. Anyway, the show has a great fondness for upshots of buildings, and the sculptures that go with them, so [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=osS-uvNLV7s) is the original opening credit sequence to give you an idea.  
> While I was researching the building materials of mansions in my area, I came across this place. It's almost exactly what I had imagined, and oddly enough it's about 3-4 miles out of Bristol city centre. Have a gander [here](http://www.tripadvisor.co.uk/VacationRentalReview-g186220-d2131999-The_Gothic_Mansion-Bristol_England.html>here</a>)


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